I want to know when the snow will stop because my senses tell me it’s never going to for that sky seems full and gray and permanent and the white, flaky downpour feels enduring, setting in like arthritis or gloom, and I know how it gets more difficult to grin in those brutally exposed times of pain and bitterness and I figure worlds too must, at some point, find the effort not worth it, the clear sky, creamy yellow sun, a deft balancing act that gets tougher and tougher to hold together with each passing year so I call a friend on this dark winter night, not to confirm what it’s doing outside or in here or anywhere been or to come, but to hear that maybe somewhere, somehow, in the glimmer of words, in the tone of a voice, it doesn’t have to be about the weather.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in New World Writing, City Brink and Tenth Muse. Latest books, “Subject Matters”,” Between Two Fires” and “Covert” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Hawaii Pacific Review, Amazing Stories and Cantos.